When a call for help leaves you helpless

Looking back, today it's been 8 month's since the stroke.  I think about that morning often. I imagine it would have been disorienting to have help of any kind in the condition I was in, but Covid added an extra layer. Suddenly, men in what I remember to be gas masks came into the room where I was slumped on the floor. They came from behind me and I don’t remember how they identified themselves. One was in front of me and the other was to my right. I know they asked me questions. I don’t remember what they asked, but I think I was able to answer them. My arm was still moving on its own. The man in front told me to stop moving my arm. My arm did not listen to his orders.​​

They asked if I wanted to go to the hospital, maybe that was a COVID thing.  I said yes, I'm not sure I understood why I wouldn't go and looking back, I can't imagine what would have happened if I'd been left home.  In fact, I don't allow myself to think about that much.  I remember being pulled up by my arms abruptly to a standing position. The way you would pull a small child up to give them a little bit of an adventure - not the way you would help an adult who had fallen. It felt like I landed on my feet once they pulled me up - it was jarring and felt aggressive. After being on my feet, I don’t remember a lot. I just remember asking for Maya and being told she was going to meet us at the hospital. I asked if I could see her, I didn’t want her to be worried. I remember seeing her standing at the back door of the ambulance. I don't remember understanding what was happening. I was going to the hospital, I was alone.  ​​​